


The One Where They Didn't Save The World

by Meskeet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon, Coda, Gabriel Is Dramatic, Gabriel May or May Not be Dead, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jack May Be Set On Fire, Light Angst, Light At the End Of the Tunnel, Mercy just wants to save everyone, no bad guys, pre-game, sad dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: It takes less than an hour for Overwatch to fall.(Or; Gabriel quits. Mercy tries to save everyone. Jack holds on. They all burn. Aka, the one where the world should've saved them.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_Tigress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/gifts).



> I'm sure as more details are revealed, this fic will become wildly inaccurate as far as canon goes. HOWEVER, for now, I filled in this as best as I could. Red_Tigress and I challenged each other to write characterization fic, so I chose the ultimate Overwatch breakup scenario. If you'd like to read some McCree & Lucio action shenanigans, I will very, very subtly direct you to her story "Moon Boots and Ten Gallon Hats".

It was far from the first time Overwatch had been attacked – by this point, in fact, Jack had lost count – but this particular instance… something about it caused a slow crawl of dread to worm its way up Jack’s back, leaving a cold shill despite the heat.

If anything could put the fear of God into Jack, it was a fire.

Maybe that was the reason why Jack hesitated in the doorway to the rooftop, watching Winston help the last of the evacuees load into a chopper. All the augments and armor in the world couldn’t stop him from being incinerated, and even though Mercy could work miracles, she probably couldn’t do much with a pile of ashes.

" _East sector is collapsing. By the sudden severity, I’d say explosives,"_ Torbjorn’s voice cut through Jack’s earpiece. _“All systems going critical – Jack, someone’s triggered the self destruct from control.”_

Jack flinched as the building shook under his feet – east sector. Weapons. Shit. Someone knew right where to hit them. Everyone with access to Athena, let alone the self-destruct, were all team members Jack knew and trusted implicitly. His breath caught as a swell of red took over the dark night and he didn’t need Torbjorn’s voice in his ear to know they’d lost another part of the building.

" _Winston says we’re being hacked from the control room. Jack, if they get our records-"_

Jack tilted his head back from a moment, leaning against the doorway and letting the taste of arid smoke fill his throat. His breath caught, and he coughed.

“I know who it is,” the words hurt to speak aloud, not just because he had left the relative safety of the rooftop and walked into the stairs leading below. “I’ll take care of it.”

“ _Jack? Ja-"_

Torbjorn’s words died as the earpiece shattered in Jack’s fist. He let the pieces drop the ground, the sound of metal lost underneath Headquarter’s destruction.

It didn’t take long for Jack to sprint through the building. If he ignored the crushing weight in his chest and the way he’d started to cough, he could almost pretend it was just another mission. It didn’t take long for him to start to wonder if pursuit was a mistake, if he should have waited for another day.

He was starting to think there wouldn’t be too many more days left, not for Overwatch. Probably not for him either, come to think of it.

* * *

At first, he’d tried for shallow breaths – quick, rapid intakes of what little oxygen remained in an attempt to filter out as much soot as possible. If not for his visor, he’d be blind by now – as it was, he spent much of his time rubbing away the ash and grit, hoping that each flicker of vision wouldn’t result in the visor failing him completely.  It felt like Jack had swallowed a pack of needles, his biotics only able to do so much in the face of fleeting oxygen and smoke intake. Maybe Torbjorn and Winston were tracking him – the fire suppressant system at least seemed to be keeping the flames down close by him, even if the rest of the building was lost.

Jack didn’t slow as he approached the control room, just lunged forward and through the reinforced door that he’d always laughed over, telling Winston there was no way it could keep any of them out. Now the door snapped like tinder from his weight, shattering into splinters that left his armor worse for wear.

His haste was almost fatal – but he knew his enemy, almost better than he knew himself most days. By the time the first shot rang out, he’d already ducked into a roll, heading for the nearest cover.

But he’d forgotten that his knowledge went both ways. The next shot burned through his ankle, leaving his leg collapsing under him as he skidded out of sight. His vision blurred, but this time it wasn’t from the fire. Jack snapped his gun up, hesitating as a shadow encroached upon the edge of his vision. It was easy work to spring back over the desk.

Easy to jump, not so easy to land. His injured foot buckled underneath him, and Jack turned neatly on his heel, lashing out with his weapon. There was a dull crack as it contacted his target.

For the first time in over a year, Gabriel met his eyes.  He'd discarded his traditional Overwatch tac gear in favor of a long, sweeping cloak, but his face - bared in a snarl as it was - was one Jack knew like the back of his hand, the all-too familiar anger, the unyielding resentment that never ceased its simmering in place as firmly as McCree's hat.

It should have hurt, but it didn’t. Gabriel's anger washed over, then away from him, as Jack let his gun fall loosely by his side. He didn't bothering to take aim as his tactical visor flickered, red streaks blurring his surroundings. At this point, the equipment was more a liability than an aid – as he reached up to undo the clasps, his hands stung from the heat of the metal, skin blistering from the burns he'd be feeling later.

His visor fell to the ground, shattering from contact. Smoke stung Jack’s eyes as he stretched out his fingers, trying to loosen the skin even as it stung and pulled tight from the head. “Long time no see, buddy,” he said, still not raising his gun, still refusing to cross a line he wasn't aware had been drawn.

“I didn’t expect you to roll over this easily,” the voice was unmistakably Gabriel’s, warped by the heat and the smoke and the rage as it was. “Where’s the mighty Jack Morrison, hero of Overwatch, defender of the public?”

 _Asshole._ Jack turned slowly as Gabriel paced around him. “You’re stalling,” he said flatly, not able to suppress a cough. The smoke’s taste had changed – it wasn’t as easy to clear from his throat, his biotic healing beginning to run dry. Jack swayed a little, squinting through yellow-green vapors to keep his eyes on Gabriel. “You killed Liao, didn’t you?”

“You don’t have the balls to do what you need to,” Gabriel said, ignoring – or maybe answering? – the question. It didn’t make sense in context, didn’t make sense as Jack coughed up tiny little needles that left his throat feeling bloody and raw and his bracing himself on his rifle so he wouldn’t fall over. “Never did, Morrison. I thought you’d start to come around after Sombra, but apparently you’re too good of a soldier to look beyond your orders. Explains why they promoted you - you were the best yes-man they could've found.”

“Don’t put this on me,” Jack snapped, and try as he might later, he won’t ever remember picking the butt of his gun off the ground. “This isn’t on me. This is-“

He didn’t finish. He wasn’t sure if it would be the truth if he did.

Gabriel crossed his arms, guns dangling loosely from his hands. Jack didn’t doubt for a moment that if Gabriel wanted to, he’d have them raised as quickly as Jack could take aim. _Shoot me,_ he was saying. _Deal with the consequences. Get revenge for pulling everything down around your ears. Get revenge for Sombra. Liao. Ana._

_Or don’t, and deal with those consequences too._

There were a dozen ways to stop Gabriel right now. He could shoot him. Even through the smoke and the vapors and his injuries, he’d hit him. Gabriel would shoot back, but it would be too late for both of them. Jack could tackle him. Could call for help. Could let the clock tick down until the self destruct was triggered and they could both go out in a blaze of glory. No one would ever need to know the truth.

“Damn it, Reyes,” he said, knowing Gabriel was smiling behind the mask. How long had it been since self-destruct was triggered? Ten minutes? Fifteen? He hadn’t thought to keep count, hadn’t really thought he’d hesitate.

He let instinct take over. Even as he snapped his gun into firing position, his ring finger tapped a small button on the side. Gabriel wouldn’t have seen the motion – he was at the wrong angle and the smoke was far too thick.

Gabriel blurred then, moving into closer range. Jack’s rocket sped past him, and for a moment Gabriel seemed to hesitate over the perceived miss. Pain, then, as the distinct sound of Gabriel firing pierced through the sound of the building’s death throes. It took him a moment to realize ( _understand)_  Gabriel had actually shot him.

Jack’s rocket hit the already failing computers and went straight through them. The cooling tanks in the wall were ruptured in an instant, the methanol within combusting the second the liquid was exposed. Misfiring on all cylinders, Jack hit the ground, his elbow cracking as it made first contact. He struggled for breath, failed to find any air worth breathing – all the augmentations in the world couldn’t give him a viable substitute for oxygen.

 _Where was Gabriel?_ He had to be long gone – like Jack should’ve been ages ago. He tried to crawl in the direction of where he knew the door to be. The fire’s roar was overwhelming, but not deafening – he could hear his armor’s announcement.

_“-critical. Life support failed. Please abandon mission and report to the nearest medical professional.  Repeat, lung efficiency has reached-"_

Needed to move. Inch by inch by-

Jack’s shaking arms gave way, his vision growing golden and blurring around the edges. The damn armor wouldn’t stop reporting in, giving a long list of vitals that would probably give Angela an apoplexy. Jack tried to pull himself further, then stopped as he hit the wall, not the door.

The floor gave out just as his body did, shaking legs and arms no longer able to carry him further. He sank down, deeper into the golden glow until there was nothing left but the fire that took him.

* * *

 “ _-still no signs of the world’s beloved Jack Morrison, along with Blackwatch commander Gabriel Reyes. The disaster that destroyed the headquarter’s of the world’s heroes led to a total of eighty-four civilian deaths, and thirty-six first responders. Still unaccounted for are-"_

The radio made a satisfying round as it hit the wall. Had Jack or Winston thrown it, it would have broken immediately. Angela’s throw, on the other hand, left it heavily dented and still audible.

“- _Jesse McCree, suspected of-"_

Jesse would have been proud of the screech the machine made as Angela’s bullet lodged inside of it.

“Verdammt,” she muttered, rising to her feet and making another quick turn around the room. She well knew what was coming – the hearings were all they’d been talking about since the casualty lists had started rolling in. Angela glanced down, checked the time, and cursed quietly once more.

It was almost time.

Angela spared a brief glance around the room - all three doors locked, weapons out of sight - then out the window - no sirens, no tell-tale shadows where they shouldn’t be. So far, they hadn’t been discovered. At this point, it was all she could ask for.

Her watch vibrated quietly on her wrist. It took just an instant to click it off as she moved across the room. One hand stayed carefully near her pistol while the other typed in a quick door code, then pushed the door open a crack. She slipped through in an instant, shutting it behind her and allowing her eyes to adjust to the faint blue glow in the center of the room.

Shadows swirled inside the modified cyrogenic chamber, colliding briefly with the glass exterior before moving away again, frantic pace never faltering as the wisps danced. Angela rubbed her eyes, stopping as soon as she realized what she was doing. Behind the shadows, a dark figure hovered limply, its stillness a stark contrast to the melee around it.

“Lights, twenty percent,” she murmured, a soft glow immediately hovering at the edges of the room. Her eyes adjusted rapidly as her fingers flew across the keypad to the chamber. Angela bit her lip, reaching down to pick up her staff. Slowly, a golden light reached out from her, curling around the man inside and chasing the shadows away, if only for a brief time.

The movement surprised her - just a brief flash, and then the figure disappeared. A heartbeat later, and an arm circled her throat and the unpleasant sensation of cold metal grazed her cheek.

“Where am I?”

“The safehouse you helped me set up,” she replied coldly, reaching up to shove her own gun away. Apparently the sound of Angela’s voice was surprising enough that he didn’t offer much resistance. “Is this the thanks I get for saving your life, Gabriel?”

“Angela,” it wasn’t often someone sounded so disgruntled to see her. Angela stepped away, turning so that she could look at him.

“You tried to kill us,” Angela said. “You tried to kill all of us. You killed Jack.”

For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he glanced down, looking at his hands. “Good.” Distorted as his voice was through the mask she’d placed on him, the cool pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. He froze, then, as though he’d finally recognized the hands before him. “Dr. Ziegler, _what did you do?_ ”

Angela glances over him, at the way he yanks at the armor over his forearms and hands, as though he expects it to come off. He reaches up immediately, moving to take off the mask.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she says pleasantly. “There will be no adverse medical effects, but my attempts to restore you weren’t as successful as I hoped.”

“ _Angela,”_ a snarl then, and he moved towards her again. She had a feeling that this time, the gun wouldn’t be so easy to push away. “Angela, what did you-”

“I walked through the poison you’d created, through the fire _you started when you attacked us_ , and pulled what little remained of your body out of headquarters. I still had a significant amount of the equipment I used when saving Genji, so I adapted it for you. Unfortunately, your augmentations had an adverse effect on my surgery.”

Angela reached out faster than he could react, neatly plucking the mask from his face. He let out a sharp hiss of pain - something she’d note down later - and recoiled, his hands rising to touch his face then pulling back. Gabriel had been - if not handsome - attractive, before. Now, his face was a meld of flesh, scars, and shadows, the last of which flowed constantly over his features. He was still recognizable, but a far cry from his former self. Even as Angela watched, the shadows constantly nibbled away at the edges of his flesh before fading and returning in a nauseating cycle.

He started into the bright silver of the mask, breathing harsh as he looked at his own distorted reflection.

“You joined Talon,” she said quietly, rather than discuss what she'd done. She had saved him. She had done all she could, there weren't any justifications, any explanations she could or would offer. But as for him... Talon recruiting him like they'd recruited Amelie was the only possible explanation for what he’d done.

“You’d be surprised at what they had to offer.”

Anger wasn’t entirely unwelcome, even if it was unexpected. “Allow me to guess - a chance to eliminate Jack? It’s what you’ve been waiting for, hasn’t it? I tried to keep the peace between you, and you joined the organization that killed Ana and Liao?”

“Yes.”

To what question he answered, she doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know. The Gabriel she knew a year ago wouldn’t have turned on his team, not without reason. She’d pieced him together after the mission that had left Liao missing and him barely clinging to life. Brought him schnaps when he’d been transferred to Blackwatch. He’d helped her find this safehouse. Drove across the continent so that she could visit her parent’s grave, brought her enough mezcal to let her fall asleep and carried her back to the car.

He’d always been a weapon, had never hesitated to kill - but he’d also never hesitated to swing by and tell her she was being an idiot when she refused a direct order and then tell her she was right in the same breath.

Maybe if Ana were alive, they wouldn’t have ended up here. Maybe they wouldn’t be shooting at one another until there wasn’t anything left of the team to shoot at.  Maybe if Ana were alive… except she wasn’t because one of their own had killed her and Mercy hadn’t been able to bring her back. Mercy had failed, and maybe that was where it all fell apart.

“We can’t keep acting like we’ll keep the world safe forever,” it was a weak attempt at justification, but when she tried to tell him so, the words died in Angela’s throat. He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to take her hand, explain some grand scheme that could make this all make sense - but all Gabriel did was pull the mask from her frozen fingers. He stared into it, looking for something she wouldn’t ever be able to see. “We used to protect people. Each other. Overwatch has slipped, Mercy. There’s a threat growing that we haven’t even begun to see, let alone act against.”

She surprised herself, taking a step forward and clenching a fist. “ _We?_ I think you gave up-”

“You don’t get to judge me. Not after what you’ve done. What Jack’s done. You heal us, _Mercy_ , and we kill people. That’s how the system works. Do you even know who we’ve been killing?”

Angela recoiled, pulling away. “You’re wrong,” she said, because maybe she was trying to convince herself of it too. You kill or people die. Maybe that was the reality Overwatch had forced her into. Angela thought back to how easy it had been to pick up the gun and shoot at the radio. “And maybe I haven’t been myself lately,” maybe she hadn’t, not for a long time. “But if I can save just one more person on our team through Overwatch, it’ll be worth it.”

She glanced at Gabriel, looked away just as quickly because she was wrong. They weren’t her team, no longer hers to look after because Gabriel had taken the damn rug and whisked it out from under her feet. When the hearings were over, Angela wasn’t going to be responsible for them. She already knew which way the wind blew - and maybe that was for the better. Because she failed to keep the team together, failed to see the Gabriel was ready to walk away, and when she was responsible she failed and failed and _failed_.

They wouldn’t allow her to be responsible for them, not anymore. Ana’s blood was on her hands, Jack’s, Liao’s - but not McCree, since he’d already disappeared. Not Lena, who was probably sitting next to Winston right now, barely anchored in this time and space. Not Fareeha, who was probably never going to get to follow in her mother’s footsteps as Ana had so desperately wished. The hearings were going to take it away.

But she could be responsible for Gabriel, for now at least. “Your cells are in a constant decay and regeneration. You’ll probably need to take some time to readjust yourself to physical form - you spent a week in the cyro chamber, and for most of it you were insubstantial.”

Rattling off the facts anchored her, if only for a moment. _Here’s a person, you can help them_. The theory was easy enough. The people, not so much.

“Are you going to tell them I’m alive?”

“Tell who?” Angela laughed, aware he’d hear the bitter streak. “Jack’s dead, Ana’s dead, you’re dead. There’s not much _them_ to speak of.”

And here she was, barely treading water and clinging to the fact that she brought some semblance of Gabriel - even if he’d never be her teammate again - back, because if she let herself drown in this, no one would take her place. Someone had to stand up in front of the UN and defend them. Lena wasn’t here, Ana wasn’t here, Winston wasn’t here, Jesse, Fareeha -

“You need to go,” she said quietly. He’d be fine, he had to be. But it wouldn’t ever be fair that he was here and they weren’t. “I - we all did - trusted you to protect us. In Overwatch or Blackwatch. I don’t know what Talon offered you and I don’t know that I care. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you have a reason for this, not after what you’ve done.”

“You saved me,” a hint of confusion, as much as the mask could allow to filter through. Maybe he’d hoped she’d believe whatever lie he had wanted to sell her. Maybe he wanted a team to have his back. Maybe... No, it didn't matter. He made his choice. He'd forced the world's hand.

“Do you remember what you said when you drove me to visit my parents? Heroes never die, Ziegler. I believed you. The man you were - I believed him. I don’t think showing mercy - that saving you - is a bad thing.”

“It’s a weakness,” he replied, and she turned away.

“I’m not surprised you think that. Go back to Talon, Gabriel. There’s nothing else I can do for you.”

The smallest shift of air in the room, a small intake of breath - she turned around, and despite herself, relaxed. She slid to the floor, reaching out to pick up the gun he’d left behind.

Maybe he was right. Maybe they were all murderers. She smiled crookedly, taking a deep steadying breath. He was gone. Another Overwatch member she tried to hold onto and then let slip away. But her personal feelings could wait. She had another patient, after all.

* * *

_A cloaked figure, standing over him._

_“Long time no see, Morrison,”_ _a voice rang out, “You run into people in the oddest of places, don’t you?”_

_The fire was too close, too close and overwhelming and he scrambled back, watching as the guns swung up and-_

Jack woke up between one breath and the next, the oddest of sensations that sent him flying off of where he’d been laying and onto the floor. He went for his gun on instinct, found it missing, couldn't  _breathe_ from the panic of it and-

“Welcome back,” a soft voice said, the familiarity of it warming him like a soft blanket in wintertime and bleeding his panic away. “Your vital are impressive, but you look as though you spent the better part of a year being tossed around by Reinhardt.”

“You should see the other guy,” he replied, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Jack’s throat felt as though he’d been gargling sand - maybe swallowing small knives would have been a better way to put it. His lip cracked almost immediately when he moved, and he reached up to wipe away the blood.

It still felt like he was on fire, his skin protesting every action. Jack let his hand flap down onto floor, even that motion was enough to make him blink moisture away from his eyes.

“Let me help you up,” Angela ordered, making his lips stretch into a smile that only cracked more skin. “And _don’t_ try to say a thing,” she added when Jack started to open his mouth.

He snapped it closed and wiggled his fingers at her. Let Angela interpret that as she would. She reached down to help lift him. He must have passed out at some point, because when his eyes opened from a blink he was back on a couch that looked vaguely familiar.

“I did what I could,” Angela said. That told him more than any report on his vitals could. Usually Jack left her infirmary feeling as though he could fight an entire army. Now he was pretty sure he’d just lay there and ask them to run him over quickly. “You probably won’t be surprised to know the damage was extensive.”

“Rey...es?” he croaked, and a glass of water appeared in his hands like magic, Angela kneeling down to check his pulse while he drank.

“Dead,” the answer was immediate. Too quick, if Jack were to be perfectly honest. He squinted at her, more than a little suspicious - but there was no way to mistake the slump of her shoulders, the way she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she slipped an IV needle out from the back of his hand. Jack didn’t even notice the sting, too busy trying to piece together the events of… whenever the hell everything had happened.

Another team member down then. At his own hands, no less. Jack had accomplished more as head of Overwatch than Gabriel ever did, certainly.

Angela sat down beside him, the movement jostling him every so slightly. Try as he might, he couldn’t disguise the wince the slight movement caused. She didn’t apologize, which was telling in itself. In fact, it was as though she had completely forgotten about him. “What are you going to do now?”

 _So much for not speaking_ , he thought wryly. “Wait. Investigate.” Some of the things Gabriel had said… well, they’d been friends once. Maybe he’d look into things for the sake of those memories alone.

Angela nodded, glancing over at him. Her eyes had taken on a curious focus - as though she was already piecing together plans of her own. “The UN disbanded Overwatch. Any participation in Overwatch activities is now criminal behavior. I haven’t heard anything from Winston or Lena.”

Short sentences, stated like a report without emotion. She was planning something, he was sure of it. He couldn’t fault her for it, not in the slightest - he was making his own plans as well.

“I’m going abroad,” she announced after the briefest of pauses, as though the plan hadn’t been finalized until she made herself say it out loud. “There’s some experimental research I want to get into. But… if you need me, call me.”

Despite himself, Jack reached out. His hands, wrapped in a rather impressive amount of bandages, rested briefly on hers. “Not many of us left,” he said, each word emerging slowly from his throat. But it was important she hear them. He pulled his hands back, gave a small shrug he regretted. “Ones who are…. we gotta make it count. If you need us, we’ll be there.”

Angela smiled at him, a little bit of wistfulness playing around the edge of her expression. “You’re going to keep fighting?”

“Heroes never die, right?” he asked. Gabriel used to say that, usually before pulling some insane stunt. But it still held true, _had_ to hold true. They just had to keep their heads above water for a while longer and then… then maybe it would all work out. Somehow. Despite their best efforts, maybe things would be fine in the end.

This time, it was her that reached for him. “I - yes. That’s true.”

It was true, Jack decided, as though the very act of saying it would make it possible. They’d lost so many, but... it had to be.

It couldn’t be anything but.


End file.
